I will intertwine and wind
crystal beads over your flesh;
ivory, frosted alabaster
like the snow capped mountains at midnight
when the flurries makes love to the peaks.
I will drape you
in azure and turquoise silks,
like the barren beach at noon
when the waves rush in and kiss the burning sands.
I will train your body in wanton fortunes -
novels that only the pitch of night can understand
and prose man is too timid to whisper.
You will adorn me
in satin and turbulent water,
the balmy flood of magic,
a cacophony of wave and wind
that rumble and topple passionately
before growing content against languid touch.
"I am Anasuya Crimsontide, the second to the eldest child of six to a poor but loving family. Our situation wasn't always so dire, in the old days we produced a rare red pigment for dyes and such, and because of it, we were quite wealthy until Arthas led his invasion, leaving three-quarters of our lands destroyed.
Production of our one export suffered and our entire family was forced from a beautiful and spacious home into the barn that was repurposed into a makeshift house. I barely remember life before, I was young and the trauma of it all is enough for any mind to block out the memories.
I was taught to be humble, chaste, and obedient. To 'never forget my place in this world.' Personally, I think my parents put too much stock in the opinions of their "betters," if they are going to look down on you, they do not need a reason. They simply will, and that is none of my business.
Working what was left of our crop became a priority, each of my siblings and I learned to tend the plants and harvest, dry, and create the pigment. It wasn't until my adolescence that I began the work for a nearby textile company and hand dyeing bolts of fabric for their use. Day after day standing in the stream and running the fabric to set the dye, this task was our namesake but the production had stopped with our fall until this benefactor financed the reboot.
This is why my fingertips are stained red; forever a reminder of the life I come from. Eventually, I began to teach my younger siblings the skill, preparing to make my own life somehow.
In my spare time, I studied anything within reach about herbs and crystals, gathering and cataloging reagents and learning things like woodworking and whittling, knitting and sewing, and other handicrafts until I had a vast knowledge of my arts and inventory.
With the help of my father, I built my wagon by hand and loaded my entire stock, some personal items for comfort, a tent, and camping supplies, and set out into the world to carve out my place in it. to find who I am away from my family's rules."
After arriving in the Bazaar of Silvermoon City, Anasuya opened up her wagon and unveiled her sign, beaming a warm and welcoming smile to any who approached her, ready to assist in any way she could and already itching to see where she headed next.
One of the Reasons I Quit My Old Job
Word Count: too many
Warnings: goblin hedonism and debauchery (jello wrestling). This whole thing happened because of a tmog I made that Attzi would never wear unless under duress. It's long, because it was mostly written before DWC started.
@daily-writing-challenge
“Ya want me ta what?” Attzi put her hands on her hips and stared over the table at the goblin on the other side. No wonder the Baron had asked to meet her at the tavern himself–if he’d sent his assistant with this kind of request, she’d have tossed What’s-His-Name out on his ass.
Baron Revilgaz took a drink from his tankard and flapped his other hand dismissively. “I don’t want ya ta do nothin’. The client does.”
“He wants ta wrestle me.” Her voice was flat. “Ya know how I feel about that.”
“Yeah, but this one wants ta make it fun.” Revilgaz grinned. “Gelatin or oil, he says you pick.”
Attzi huffed. “Neither! Get someone else. I ain’t th’ only one who works this job for ya.”
“He likes ya most, Atz. Ya know how to make an impression. That’s why you’re my best.”
The flattery was wasted on her, as he should have known by now. “I ain’t doin’ it.” She crossed her arms across her front and scowled. She’d have to remember this the next time her ma told her there was nothing wrong with being an overachiever.
Her boss’s voice turned wheedling. “I’ll pay ya double.” He held up two clawed fingers.
“Double?” She let her voice get a bit shrill. “For rollin’ around in dubious food with some guy ya wanna cheat?”
“Look, them Area 52 guys’re just plain weird. I think th’ netherstorm gets to ‘em. Ever been? Place is a wastela–”
Attzi cut him off. “I want triple. Up front.” She locked eyes with the baron.
He countered immediately. “Double up front, an’ a week off ta visit th’ family. Plus, he said he’d have a gift for ya of his own for bein’ so obligin’.”
She made a frustrated noise through her teeth. “Yeah, I bet he did.”
“Nah, he said somethin’ about bugs. Said ya brought up ya like ‘em.”
Her ears perked, and she cursed internally for showing interest so clearly. “...I ain’t got a place ta do this, or th’ stuff we’d need,” she protested lamely.
Revilgaz gave another dismissive wave. “Tell me gelatin or oil an’ I’ll have it all sent ta your place. Do it on th’ roof by that bar a yours.”
Attzi cocked her head, considering the location. If her opponent got handsy, she could always knock him off the roof, right? Sure, there was a privacy fence, but that was for hiding her when she was sunbathing, so it wasn’t super tall.
“...An’ how can I be sure th’ assistant’s gonna get all this set up in time?”
“I’ll be bringing it all personally.” Possibly to reinforce this, he finished his drink and set it down on the table with a loud ahh.
“Ta my house? You jus’ wanna watch!” She pointed a gold-painted claw at him accusingly.
He smirked and leaned back in his chair. “If I’m payin’ ya double up front, I’m makin’ sure you’re puttin’ in th’ effort.”
Her head cocked. “He don’t seem th’ type to want me ta throw it, then?”
He spread his hands wide. “Too bad, right?”
“You’re enjoyin’ this too much, boss. Bring gelatin. I don’t wanna get oil in my hair. An’ ya own liquor. I ain’t indulgin’ ya tonight any more than I gotta.” Attzi whirled on her heel and stomped out of the tavern, the heels of her boots thudding pointedly as she made her exit. Most days she loved her job. This wasn’t one of them. And she needed to get back quickly enough to remember who this guy from Area 52 was, get dressed, and get the roof ready for company.
She knew better than to check her notes while walking after nearly spilling off the boardwalk and into the bay more than once, so she forced herself to wait until she was back in her house on the top row, nestled between the hill of the jungle behind them and the bay far below. She closed her front door and immediately scrambled for her notebook, finding the page on her current mark and reading it over.
He hadn’t really struck her as a creep so far, at least, and they had talked about bugs. He was a trader, and apparently he had a cousin who traded in the big bugs that you could ride over the water. She’d liked that idea enough to write it down, so he must have picked up on her enthusiasm. Kizzie wasn’t a super great name, but at least she’d be able to remember it for the night, because the sound of it made her giggle.
Oh, and she’d even put down a little sketch with her descriptions. Kizzie must have gotten too interested in what she’d been writing. She usually drew them to distract them when they got too nosy.
She snapped the notebook shut and slid it into a drawer before moving to her bedroom next. She opened the closet that spanned the entire wall the door was on, and started digging around in her many, many bathing suits for a specific set she remembered having made. She may not have done much wrestling, but she’d done plenty of swimming, and she knew that hands grabbing the wrong strap could quickly cause a wardrobe malfunction. So, after a bit of searching, she produced what she hoped would be her saving grace with the gelatin: dark red bottoms with a belt that sat above the hips, just high enough to cover her belly button. The sides of the bottoms were high and showed off nearly all her leg and half her ass (it was really hard to find bottoms that covered it, honestly), but the belt kept what was there from falling off when diving… or being yanked off by creeping fingers. She said a brief prayer to nobody that they’d still fit as she shimmied into them and buckled them closed. The buckle was gold, and set with a pretty little diamond. She’d wanted it to look more like a fashion piece than what it really was: a deterrent.
Next, she found the top she often wore with it: a lace-front crop top with a bottom band that buckled on her back, just below the bustline. The laces let her adjust how much cleavage she felt like showing; today, it was going to be laced completely shut. She didn’t want to dig gelatin out of her top later.
Also, didn’t it melt?
She shuddered and got to work strapping and lacing herself in. As she did, she tried not to envision how it was going to feel squishing between her toes.
Nah, nah, she wasn’t gonna let that happen. She pulled out a sliding shelf that held her boots, sorted by color and condition, and found a pair of old red cloth knee-highs that would match the suit. Stepping into them, she laced them up and then took a few test steps. They should still have enough tread to work for this. If Kizzie didn’t like it, she’d complain that someone had stepped on her foot once during a wrestling match, and it had hurt for days. Sad pouting.
Attzi closed up her closet, bringing the mirrors covering the doors back into view. She stared at the final result for a bit, turning this way and that. Part of her was self-conscious about her bare arms because people generally didn’t expect them to be so buff. Most of her was self-conscious about the sheer amount of ass and thigh visible; she’d inherited her father’s upper half, and her mother’s lower half. There were benefits to calling attention to each, but she usually didn’t go out around clients with both on show. It gave them ideas she didn’t always want them to have.
If a single person asked if they could try to bounce a gold piece off her backside tonight… Her head cocked, and she stared at the door. How many people was she going to be dealing with, anyway? Revilgaz, for all his teasing, wanted to be there to seal the deal while her mark was breathless, sticky, and distracted. But would Kizzie be bringing anyone?
She had just enough time to put on her lipstick before there was a knock at the door and the sound of several sets of shuffling feet from the open window beside it. “Special delivery!”
“It’s open,” she called, walking back into the main room. When the door opened, her heart sank. Baron Revilgaz walked in briskly, followed by six of his men. Two were holding a kiddie pool, and the rest either had buckets of water, or large boxes of powder.
“We need all these guys for this?” Her voice was incredulous.
“Two’ll stay ta help with drinks. Th’ rest are just here for setup.” Revilgaz directed them up her spiral staircase, and was about to follow after when Attzi called out.
“Hey! I ain’t seein’ any sign ya BYOB’d.”
Just then, a seventh goblin came in, holding a heavy crate of bottles. Her boss chuckled, and she sighed and fell into step with everyone else, heading for the roof.
Once they were up top, Baron Revilgaz turned and looked her over. “Ya look like ya wrestle all th’ time in that outfit. This happen more often than I knew about?”
“Nah.” Attzi turned in place with a little flourish. “This’s what I wear when I take clients cliff divin’ off your statue’s big dumb face in th’ bay. Belt keeps everythin’ in place when I hit the water.”
He squinted at her, trying to decide if she was being honest or not. All she did was wink, and then start shifting furniture around to create a space for the pool. Begrudgingly, she moved all the seats so that the spectators, if there were any, could get a clear view of the match. Revilgaz immediately sat down in the leftmost lounge chair, snapping his fingers. In seconds, he had a cold bottle of ale in his hand.
While Attzi was moving the furniture and seeing that the bar was properly stocked, some of Revilgaz’s henchmen started mixing water and powder in the kiddie pool. She sniffed, and then wrinkled her nose.
“...Cherry? You serious?”
Her boss shrugged. “We had th’ most a that flavor.”
“I wonder why.” That was gonna look real appealing on skin. She should have at least requested a not blood-like color. Attzi groaned and started mixing herself up the first of her three drinks for the night, and then went and sprawled out in the lounge chair next to Revilgaz, leaving her bar to the two tenders he’d brought along. “Might as well get some sun before Kizzie shows.” She sipped her cocktail through a straw and then tilted her face to the sky.
“Right.” He snapped his fingers, and one of the gelatin pool boys split off and scampered over. “You. Go tell Kizzie he got his wish.”
Attzi stared daggers at the baron as his henchman scampered off, but all he did was smile and give a small cheers with his drink. She sighed, lounged back, and closed her eyes before holding a hand out in his direction. “Pay up.”
He grumbled, but pulled a hefty bag of gold out of the box of alcohol beside him, settling it into her open palm with a flourish. She sat it beside her hip without counting it; he knew better than to cheat her. That done, she stretched out in the chair and enjoyed the feeling of the sun on her skin while she waited for the inevitable.
****
Her current best friend did show up with guests. Attzi had nearly fallen asleep in the chair next to the baron when one of the henchmen scampered downstairs and answered a knock at her door. She opened her eyes, good ear taking in the sound of several pairs of shoes on the spiral staircase. They turned out to belong to Kizzie, an orc she hadn’t met, and two other goblins.
“Go time,” murmured Revilgaz, taking her glass from her. She scowled at him ever-so-briefly, before turning it into a cheerful smile and shifting her attention to the new arrivals. Attzi rose from her lounge chair and approached the guest of honor.
“Kizzie!” She met his eyes and beamed. “All this trouble just for me?”
“Booty Bay’s known for its…” he trailed off as he took in her outfit. “Interestin' attractions. I figured I might as well check an’ see if this was a possibility.”
She took his arm and led him to the bar, where more henchmen were ready to serve. “Let’s get some liquid courage in ya before we get in th’ ring.”
He ordered a drink, and she longed for hers. A side-eye to Revilgaz told her that he was finishing it instead of handing it back, even though he had his own liquor right next to him. She caught his eye and made a slashing motion at her neck with a claw before Kizzie caught her attention again.
“So, how we gonna do this?”
Attzi gestured at the pool. “Hop in, get a bit dirty?”
Kizzie cleared his throat. “Right, but who’s th’ ref? How many rounds?”
“I’ll be th’ ref,” Baron Revilgaz called from his spot. “How many rounds ya want?”
“Best a three?” Attzi suggested, because she knew one match wouldn’t be distracting enough.
Kizzie agreed immediately, taking his drink in hand and having a sip as he looked her over. “I ain’t convinced a my chances, seein’ you outta clothes. Your tailor knows how to hide those arms.”
She smiled and nodded, putting a hand on her hip and flexing her arm slightly. “If ya wanna back down….”
He shook his head and tossed his drink back, before pulling off his shirt and sitting to remove his boots. “Nah. This’ll be memorable, one way or another.”
Kizzie’s frame was wiry, which gave her hope she wasn’t going to be immediately smashed into the ring. Once he was down to his trousers, Revilgaz gestured with the remains of Attzi’s drink toward the pool. “Contestants, take your places,” he said in his speech-giving voice.
Keeping a smile on her face, she stepped into one side of the pool, ignoring the way the partially-set gelatin squelched underboot. Kizzie stepped into the other side, barefoot, and spread his arms in front of him, clearly readying himself to grapple her. She kept her hands at her sides and spread her legs slightly to help center her weight.
“On count. Three… two… …one!”
Kizzie launched himself forward, reaching for her shoulders. Attzi grabbed him by the neck and side-stepped, guiding him front-first into the pool of cherry-flavored gelatin. He sputtered, and she sat herself down on his lower back before she looked over at Revilgaz, smirking.
He blinked. “Well, that’s round one. Kizzie, I gotta warn ya, she grew up with… how many was it?”
“Five cousins. Four boys.” Attzi rose and held out a hand to assist Kizzie to his feet as he wiped gelatin from his face.
“‘Xactly.” While her mark was cleaning up, her boss made eye contact with her and suggested using the power of a jaw clench that she’d better not do that again. Attzi sighed and returned to her initial spot.
The next round was counted off, and this time she let him hit her full-on. His fingers found the sleeve of her top, but the laces and buckle held. They topped backwards into the mess of the pool, and she immediately worked at hooking a leg in his so that she’d be able to flip him. Everything smelled like cherry, and the more they wrestled, the slicker their skin became. It was getting hard for her to keep a grip on him. Eventually, she resorted to wrapping both her legs around his waist and clenching her thighs, sending herself up hard against his body. It was a dirty tactic, but when he gasped, she used the distraction to roll him. His back hit the gelatin, and she shifted her hips as she sat up so that she didn’t have to feel what that particular move had done to him.
Attzi grimaced as she realized there was gelatin in her hair, but remembered what she was here for and turned it back into a smile. “Another drink might limber ya up a bit,” she suggested, straddling his thighs and smirking. “Though there’s no winnin’ at this point. Wanna call it?”
“Call it? Nah.” He laughed and ran a hand down her bare back. “Drink, sure. An’ a request.” He pointed behind them, to one of his entourage. “I know when I’m beat. Let him try ta save face for me while I watch th’ last round.”
Attzi followed his finger, and her eyes went wide as she saw he was indicating the orc. “I, uh–” Her eyes cut to the baron, who was grinning and lounging in his chair, her now-empty drink in his hand. She returned her face to a pleasant smile, and rose, holding a hand out to return the mark to his feet. He came back up into everyone’s view with very little shame, considering the state she’d left him in.
“Come sit by me, Kizzie. I’m sure Atz’ll oblige. We’ll get ya another drink for tha show.”
She stared at Revilgaz for a moment, eyes narrowed, and he helpfully held up two fingers. Double. She’d been paid double. Fuck.
He set her glass down, and smiled over at the orc. “Can we get ya a refreshment, sir?”
The orc shook his head and stepped forward, hauling his shirt over his head and exposing a very muscular torso. She’d put money on him being Kizzie’s bodyguard. “No need. I’m fine.”
Attzi and Revilgaz had a quiet, brief eye-fight, but in the end she stepped back into the pool to face off against someone roughly half again her height. He clambered onto the opposite side, and they stared at one another for a moment as the baron got Kizzie situated with a drink and a good view.
She knew what was going to happen: this fight was going to run long because her boss would refuse to call it, and while she was pinned and struggling underneath her opponent, Revilgaz was going to talk business, hoping their mark would be so focused on the event that he’d sign whatever just to get back to it. She also knew it was going to work. But she still needed to put on a show. So when her new opponent stepped in, she smiled up at him and stretched her arms over her head, releasing some very real tension in her back and shoulders. “Think ya can handle me?”
All he did was blink at her. Her eyes darted from his face to his hands, which most definitely were going to be able to handle her. She grinned and winked at him, which made him smile faintly.
“I’ll go easy on you,” he said.
“Where’s th’ fun in that?”
This time, he did smile.
The baron counted down the round, and the two of them simply stood there for a moment. Attzi was waiting for him to react, and he was taking his time. After a few seconds, both his hands reached for her waist, and she tried to twist away. She avoided one hand, but the other caught the belt of her bottoms and hauled her across the pool, dragging her boots through the gelatin as he pulled her close. She braced her hands against his chest and tried to push off, but he slipped his arm around her, pulling her in close against his middle by sheer force of muscle.
“Ya got three feet on her, Dral!” she heard Kizzie call. “C’mon!”
“I can fix that.” He chuckled, wrapped both his hands around her waist, and then just lifted her into the air so that they were at face level with one another.
Attzi kept a smile on her face and giggled breathlessly. “This ain’t wrestlin’, big guy.”
“No. It’s entertainment.” He smirked and lowered his voice to a murmur. “I know what he likes. Just play along.”
“...Okay, sure.” She shoved at his shoulders with her hands, and then raised her voice. “Pretty sure ya gotta pin me to win, buddy.”
He set her down, then flicked two fingers, beckoning her to come at him. She looked up to meet his eyes, and he winked. “Then let’s get you pinned.”
Attzi took a deep breath and decided to trust that he, too, was just an employee. She heard laughter behind her as she stepped in close and tried to wrap a leg around his to bring him down. Laughter, and the sound of Revilgaz wheeling and dealing. Just a few more seconds, then.
There was absolutely no way she was strong enough to bring him down, but he still stumbled, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her down on top of him. She ended up sprawled across his chest and stomach, and tried to pin him and fix that at the same time: one hand to each shoulder, and she pressed down.
“You’re as strong as you look,” he chuckled.
“Likewise.” She tried to get back onto her feet, but he grabbed her again, squeezing her in close with his arm.
“The only place you’re going is down,” he said, enunciating enough for the spectators. Then, he rolled her.
Attzi shrieked as the gelatin squished into her back, her hair, and against her legs. Secondary to that sensation was the feeling of many, many pounds of muscular orc pressing against her. The lip of the pool kept her from seeing their audience, but she could definitely hear them cheering. And, as expected, her boss wasn’t calling the round.
It was honestly hard to breathe underneath him, but at least her new ‘rival’ seemed completely disinterested in what was going on; they were both performing for their employers, and that fact made the whole charade a little more fun than it would have been otherwise. She wrapped her legs around his middle and futilely tried to flip him like she’d done with Kizzie earlier. Of course, it didn’t work, but it looked good. He grabbed one of her thighs with a hand and pulled her leg back down, and she yelled in frustration at being pinned again.
For his part, he laughed as he held her, and then scooped up some of the gelatin and smeared it across her face. When she made a very genuine disgusted noise, she heard their audience cheer again. She took the cue and retaliated, using both her hands to smash gelatin right back into his face.
He pinned her hands then, holding her down, and she kicked her legs and struggled with literally all her might. Everything was slippery, and he was too big to really do anything against, and for a brief moment she felt genuine panic. Her opponent must have heard it in her voice, because he lifted off of her just enough to give her free room to breathe.
And then, right at the edge of her tolerance, Baron Revilgaz called the match. The orc immediately rose, offering out a hand, and she stood, breathing hard. Her eyes found Kizzie, and she saw a signed contract in the baron’s hand. Revilgaz gave her a small nod, and then one of the henchmen came up to her with a towel. It was one of hers; had they gone through her house? She snapped and gestured at the orc, who was then given a towel, as well.
He wiped his face and hair clean, and then held out a hand. When she shook it, he grinned.
Did he have any idea what he’d just helped do? She studied his face, but found no answers.
Soon, her nice white towels were stained with cherry. She smiled around gritted teeth and moved for the bar, asking for her second drink of the night.
****
The rest of the night was drinking and chatting and wishing for a bath. Kizzie had to be carried off by his entourage at the end; he’d been a bit too liberal with her bar. Before that, though, he’d promised that she’d have a present from his cousin delivered within the week. Dral, her new orc friend, had caught her gaze and winked before taking the staircase down into her main house, his boss slung over his shoulder. She’d blown him a kiss as he left.
Once everyone was gone, Baron Revilgaz shooed his bartenders out of her house and mixed up her favorite drink himself.
“I already had three,” Attzi protested as he settled down in the chair beside her and offered it out.
“Ya don’t gotta perform anymore tonight. Ya did good. Now take a break.”
She sighed and stretched out in the lounge chair, accepting the drink and having a sip. “Do shit like this ta me much more an’ I’m gonna quit, ya know.”
“Ya’d break my heart like that, Atz?” His voice sounded fond, and completely unbothered.
Attzi turned her head, meeting his eyes, and nodded. “In a second,” she said, before having another drink.
“An’ that’s why I call ya my best.” He winked, and then crossed his arms behind his head, tilting his head to the sky. “I’ll have someone clean th’ roof for ya tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay, okay.” Attzi looked up at the stars, and tried to ignore the prevalent smell of cherry.
The two of them fell into a comfortable silence. Once she finished her drink, he wished her a good night, and then saw himself out.
"Mine is a mind scared, forever pained by the loss of a twin flame. Flesh marked by fingerprints long since removed but always carrying that reminder, his hands had been there, tracing the fabric of my very soul. In my nights alone with no lover by my side, your memory creeps back in, sturring my slumber and burning my skin as if your warmth was there beside me, radiating through these dark years. So easily my mind slips to that first encounter."
A busy Saturday night and the streets of Silvermoon were absolutely bustling with nightlife, taverns overflowing and parties all around, each and everyone celebrated the end of some bloody struggle. Valanthriell took time away from her duties to enjoy some fun, slipping away from her guards (per usual) and getting herself a drink while.
That was when he walked in, tall, dark, and handsome, a cliche she couldn't help but savor. Valanthriell had always been picky about who she connected with outside of her work, wanting to know a person before considering them romantically, but something about this man had her focused.
Their gaze met and electricity filled the air, her wicked little grin and his devious smirk, they practically mirrored one another by default. It was abundantly clear in that moment that they both craved the other in that very instant, His head gestured to the door and she replied with a nod; setting down her drink and following him out of the tavern, through the city gates, and out into Eversong Woods.
In the exact moment they were hidden from view their passion ignited, his strong hands pinned her to the tree and their lips met with fury as if they had known each other so intimately before and longed for this moment when the reality was they hadn't even learned each other's names.
His hand wrapped around her wrists, pressing them firmly against the rough tree bark, the other hand grasping tightly on her throat and releasing a guttural growl in Valanthriell's ear. She had encounters like this before, men who praised themselves as Alphas and Kings only to deeply disappoint, but no, this time was drastically different; the vibration of his growl sent chills over her supple flesh, the strong grip on her wrists and throat created pressure that built at the base of her spine, the subtle taste of iron on her tongue.
"You've allowed me this," His deep booming voice spoke as softly as possible. "Do you grant me access to the rest?" He asked with such a forceful aura but respectful as well, Valanthriell was invested at this point.
"I want you to show me the hunger you withhold.
The depths of your depravity.
I want to walk away with marks that last long on the flesh but an eternity in the soul.
Show me how you would dominate me and I might just let you."
The memories flood Valanthriell in the quiet nights. "My love, where have you gone?"
Once, she'd practically been a paragon of virtue, and innocence. Once, she'd epitomized her surname: Whitedawn. Pure... naive.
Foolish.
'Innocence' was as good as an execution order, in this world - except worse, by virtue of the fact that you lived long, long after it was stripped away. Long after you were mutilated, humiliated, used for your lack of knowledge about the world, then thrown away... long after all this, you carry the shame and disgrace of it all with you.
Used up, purity devoured, the monsters throw you away - a monster now yourself, you are of no use to them.
Now, however - now, now she was a creature wholly unlike the one that came before. Where, like a moth drawn to the flame, she'd once been drawn to dark things...now she was one. A creature of chaos, destruction, and lust who would put all of those who'd had a hand in making her to shame, in time.
In the light of day, a noblewoman who'd saved her estate, holdings, and people from total loss... eventually. She'd come back one day, however, sporting horns and tattoos, among other things.
In the dark of night, she embraced the irony of sitting in the very same seat that he had - the one whose impact had carried furthest; she sat in his VIP box, the man whose club this was...when, in truth, wasn't it really hers now? It wasn't a place for those who slept easy at night. It wasn't a place for the family man, or the doting mother. It was a place for the lost and broken. The damned. Those in need. For those with urges they could only barely bring themselves to recognize, much less articulate. Those were, after all, what she'd been re-born amidst - pitiful girl she'd been.
But that's what she dealt in, now - fulfilling broken dreams, for broken people, for a price. At least in part - there were other ways in which to sate herself... but preying upon the desires and lusts that tormented others was, by far, a favorite.
"What drives you?" The Boss Lady asked Me, her mind curious about how quickly and expertly I complete each contract she sends my way. When the fact is that I live for the work.
"Lust," I replied, the simplest way I could describe the reasons why I do what I do. "Lust for the coin, lusts of the flesh, and a lust for blood. I want what I want and no person can shame me for it."
She looked at me like I had her questioning our partnership as if my work didn't speak for itself but finally she broke her silence with honeyed words. "I cannot hold such wants against you as mine are not much different, I appreciate transparency, it wastes less time."
"Mmm." Speaking of wasting time. "If you've nailed down the next task I'd like to get going. I've got a rather beautiful young woman waiting for me to tie her up."
"Dismissed." She waved me out, good. I've got more important business tonight.
Daily Writing Challenge - May 2022 - Day 1 - Chastity/Lust
Tinnaire had not lusted after the traditional roles she found herself in, but she had flourished in them. Life had come easy and sweet in her younger years. She had spent her youth as a magistrix high enough in the nobility to be comfortable, but not high enough to be so pressured into crushing duty. She had been in the military and she had seen life from a variety of angles. She had failed in heavy ways, certainly, but in general, as she sat in her workshop planning her next art piece, she had succeeded as well.
It was good to find balance and she reflected that she was a better person for having made her mistakes. Less judgmental of others. She would take back the biggest mistakes if she could, but wishing and wanting to change the past didn’t move you forward. Learning to live with them and their consequences had tempered her, though they could still smother her in the deep of the night when she wasn't careful.
Stretching her back and humming, Tinnaire sat up on her stool and looked out into the dark streets of Silvermoon. The light curtains were pushed back to let in the moonlight. Her pulse quickened a little as she contemplated the city. She was free from her demons, literally, and it felt good to live again.
Her grin grew wide as she pushed her project to the side and got up, ready to explore the night.
@daily-writing-challenge
CW: Depiction of sex (Venthyr Stoneborn, They/Theirs w/Cis-Female).
The war wagon's wheels groaned in protest as they trundled through the Eastern Plaguelands, perhaps more annoyed than usual at the amount of cargo they were bidden to hold. Instruments of war, like this one, were never meant to be used for cargo that was still living. Especially a blue-skinned troll with ghostly blue eyes, who needed to be chained down and strapped to the front of the wagon to keep from moving.
"You can stop wrigglin' whenever you want, ye'know," the bony Forsaken steering this precious cargo called out. "Not gonna do you an ounce a' good where you're going." Their pink spiked mohawk flapped in the wind almost as much as their distended, rotting tongue. "Gotta say, you're the first live cargo I've taken up north in a long time. Shame that you don't have any plague in you, though." A loud snort to pull dripping mold-colored mucus back into their nose. "Your mother's got a real fun time planned for you, Miss Sab-Back. Gonna bring you back to the world of the living. Wish I could get the same, but, heh, not the voodoo way."
Sabbac would have responded with something particularly foul, if not for the cast-iron mask pressed up against her face. Of course it had spikes. The Horde love putting spikes on everything.
The night wasn't supposed to end like this.
It started, as some nights in Oribos do, with a death knight (who was supposed to be on duty) being pulled off to the side by a very handsome stranger. This one happened to have wings, flowing black hair, a literally stony exterior, and piercing red eyes. Oh, and their name was Laurax.
They were Stoneborn - one of the Venthyr covenant carved from marble and given life thanks to the mysterious powers of anima. Soul energy? Who really understood what it was, anyways? Sab figured them to be the lonely type, and they were. First time out in the greater afterlife, a bit of a wanderer ever since the Maw Walker and their allies defeated Lord Denathrius. Hungry for intimacy. Maybe the troll was, too. Maybe two creations of death could figure things out together. That's what Laurax said, in essence. They hadn't really figured out this whole "flirting" thing yet. And with Sabbac, they didn't need to. She knew what they wanted. Deagra wouldn't mind.
It wasn't much of a secret to anyone, really, that the lower chambers of Oribos were a quiet, discreet place to meet. The cartels used the corridors to coordinate their offerings at the Night Market; plot against other cartels; and get rid of any "messes" that might be bothering them on a particular day. It would stand to reason, then, that any storage containers left strewn about would be perfect for a couple looking to have an intimate night in.
Not even a few minutes in of kissing and getting friendly, and Laurax was already getting Sabbac's armor off, piece by piece. If only the troll could feel those claws finding purchase, digging into her skin, their sharp teeth tugging on her cl-
But encounters like this must keep their secrecy, leaving the reader to imagine what comes next. Perhaps they'd be sated with some more dialogue? Please forgive the writer for not being more experienced in smut. They're not used to writing smut.
Do you like pain, mortal?
Of course.
This kind of pain?
Grunt Of course.
It's a shame things had to end the way they did. At least Sabbac was able to come for Laurax, or, rather, what the stoneborn really was. "You did perfectly, sweetheart," purred Laurax in a silky masculine voice the troll had never heard before. "I really wish we had more time together, I do, but I'm on a bit of a time crunch. Deep breath in, dear, and good night!" A hard hit to the head, and everything went dark.
Some time later, the stench of Scourge mixed with stale air passing through Sabbac's nose woke her up. It was then that she found herself barreling through the Eastern Kingdoms with her new friend, Mox the Rot Tongue, bound for a Ghostlands reunion with her mother. What was her name again? It'd been such a long time since the Echo Isles...
